A Novel Concept - A death a day, MC will live anyway!

The ritual proceeded without a hitch. Inside a room within Log-a-Rhythm, Priam stood face-to-face with Myuri, holding her hands. Beside them, Rose waited patiently. The young man required her presence to reassure the former slave. Even though Myuri knew Priam was different from the Empyreans, he was still a man and preferred not to rush the young woman.

Activating his Primogenitor Title, he was momentarily embarrassed to see Myuri's naked body in his mind's eye. The sight of her scars quickly ignited more violent emotions within him, and he refocused on the ritual.

The transformations soon became significant enough to dispel any lingering awkwardness, and they began discussing the various possibilities that now lay before her. One of Myuri's first decisions was to erase her scars and burns and then increase her height by nearly ten centimeters.

Years of malnutrition had stunted her growth, and she seized this chance to correct the flaws that had accumulated, reshaping her physique to achieve a magnetically cold beauty.

The ritual temporarily bound the Primogenitor and the future Homo Elysian, and Priam realized that the cosmetic changes were far from mere vanity. Following Jasmine's advice, Myuri now saw her body as a weapon. If a man was focused on her appearance, he was less likely to concentrate on her schemes.

In addition, Priam felt a bit awkward when he realized that Myuri had a fierce determination to repay a debt she believed she owed him. He hesitated to bring it up, then decided against it. One step at a time.

Once Myuri finished customizing her appearance and swallowed the Hydra Pill to regenerate her body, Priam left Log-a-Rhythm to review the plans proposed by his father for the new outpost. The architect had already completed the blueprint and was waiting for his future artisans to get to work.

Your application has been selected.

The notification surprised Lamnas as he was watering his flowers. He froze upon reading it, then accepted before he could think twice. He knew his weak mind would exploit any hesitation to convince him to change his decision. When one was as much of a coward as he was, it was sometimes better to sign before overthinking.

Your new faction, Oasis, awaits you!

Realizing his life was about to change, Lamnas wept with a blend of joy, sadness, and fear. Elves had temperaments tied to their occupations, and being as close to nature as he was, he felt no shame in the tears streaming down his cheeks. As one tear fell towards the ground, he caught it. The chemical composition of the soil was strictly regulated, and his plants didn’t need more sodium chloride.

Lamnas set down his watering can and dried his eyes. Before leaving the seventh fortress of Knaya, he had a few things to take care of. He hesitated momentarily about returning to the dormitory he shared with other Tier 0 artisans to grab clothes and mementos.

Bad idea, he decided. Moving around the fortress during work hours would arouse suspicion.

Lamnas mourned his meager possessions and headed towards the storage area for seeds, cuttings, and grafts. If he had to start a new life elsewhere, he might as well take the legacy of his predecessors with him.

His mother, maternal grandfather, and great-grandmother had all been gardeners, and his lineage stretched far back. Lamnas didn’t know exactly which ancestor, but one of them had been a Champion, torn from his world and civilization by the Seven. This hero had survived by marrying an elf, and their descendants had always found factions to attach to, living free and practicing their art.

For the last three generations, it had been Knaya, specifically its seventh fortress.

Traversing the small grove he maintained at the heart of the citadel, Lamnas quickly reached a small wooden cabin. The door opened automatically, recognizing his aetheric code, revealing a spatially extended room. The polished stone floor and metal shelves contrasted sharply with the cabin’s natural appearance.

Most of the cabin was occupied by rows of pots growing a wide variety of fruits and vegetables. While elven warriors consumed meat, some artisans adopted a vegetarian diet. Feeding these men and women was part of Lamnas’s responsibilities.

Without hesitation, he moved to the back of the room. A few minutes later, he reached containers specially designed for cultivating certain rare seeds. The elf wasn’t a thief; he refused to leave his current faction with samples that didn’t belong to him. However, the plants discovered, grafted, cultivated, and cherished by his family were his heritage, and he wouldn’t leave them in the hands of knights incapable of appreciating their value.

Opening the containers one by one, Lamnas stored a thousand plants in his [Heart Garden], a Talent created by his illustrious ancestor and inherited through his low-grade bloodline. This ability synergized with his Concept and an ideal epic skill for creating a spiritual garden where he could cultivate certain plants. The skill was currently full to the brim, but by spending his Potential, the gardener hoped to hold on for a few more hours.

Closing the last container, he moved towards the fertilizers and manure and took a bit. Suddenly, an alarm sounded, and Lamnas looked up like a startled deer. Someone had entered the grove.

“Probably a knight coming to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere of my grove after a tough battle,” he murmured to convince himself. Ordinarily, the gardener was happy to share his garden—his responsibility and job—but not today.

Lamnas left the cabin, closing it behind him, and headed towards the garden's center. In front of a massive Jal Quercus, a familiar silhouette waited.

“Menald,” greeted Lamnas, praying his voice wouldn’t tremble. “What brings you here?”

“To see Mother for the last time.”

A cold shiver ran down Lamnas's spine at the response. He swallowed before attempting a pathetic bluff. “Are you going on an expedition?”

“Enough, little brother!” Menald’s voice cracked like a whip, and Lamnas stepped back. “You want to flee in the midst of the storm, fine, but don’t take me for a fool. What criteria did you provide to the Sun Shop?”

The gardener gritted his teeth.

“... A safe place, far from the fighting, that has repelled at least three Waves, accepts elves, and... has a Tal Quercus that survived a Tribulation.”

Menald turned sharply towards his brother. A strange glint appeared in his eyes, and he finally nodded.

“I see.”

Maybe it was because he was convinced he was seeing his brother for the last time, but Lamnas dared to speak. “Are you going to stop me from leaving?”

“By killing you, you mean? When I came here, I was torn,” the warrior said evenly. “That you take the work of our ancestors with you, fine. You are their heir, after all, and I am only good for spilling blood. However, I refused to let you corrupt what remains of Mother.”

Fearing for his life, Lamnas stepped back again before shouting. “I’m doing this for her! The Herald will soon take the fortress and—”

“We will conquer this Necro Wave. Our Prince has chosen me as a potential disciple, and one of his clones is arriving.”

“Oh.”

The news was so shocking that Lamnas was caught off guard. The Prince was less powerful than the Empress, but it was said he was close to completing his Myth. Even in a world like Elysium, that was no small feat.

“Seeing the endless armies of the dead... I just wanted to save Mother,” Lamnas justified himself, staring at the leaves on the ground. In front of his brother, he always felt like a child. It was rather normal because, at forty-four, he was considered an adolescent by his people.

“I know; if you had acted out of cowardice, your oath of allegiance would have killed you.” Only the certainty of imminent death had allowed Lamnas to betray his oath to his faction. “Without the arrival of our Prince, you would have been right to flee. Even our First Knight cannot indefinitely repel a Herald backed by an endless army. Well, it doesn’t matter now, and it’s probably better for Mother. She never liked this place.” Menald stepped aside. “Do what you must.”

With his guts clenched in fear, Lamnas stepped alongside his brother and placed a hand on the trunk, which began to glow. Connecting to his Concept, the gardener communicated with the Jal Quercus and explained his choice. A vague sense of acceptance and trust radiated from the tree’s consciousness. Its leaves trembled before retracting. In seconds, the colossal growth reversed until only an emerald seed remained, which the elf delicately seized.

“What’s the name of your future faction?”

Lamnas hesitated for a moment before replying in a whisper. “Oasis.”

Menald’s gaze narrowed. “I see... May Mother take care of you.”

“May Father take care of you,” Lamnas replied, glancing at the sword at his brother’s belt.

The warrior gave a rare smile. “I will be the one taking care of him.”

Priam looked up as Myuri stepped out of Log-a-rhythm, accompanied by Rose. The young woman had transformed, now exuding an aura of confidence. Their eyes met, and their charisma clashed. Without intending to, Priam's aura overpowered Myuri's, causing her to flinch.

Stolen story; please report.

"Sorry, it was a reflex," Priam grimaced. He hadn’t had the time or opportunity to master his social aura. "Was that a charisma-based skill?"

"I thought it would be good for my work as an administrator," Myuri replied, her eyes downcast.

"It’s a good idea, but my effective charisma is at least four times yours. Against anyone else, it would have been compelling," Priam reassured her. "Are you feeling okay?"

The question brought a rare smile to the former slave’s lips. "I have never felt better. For this and everything else, I owe you eternally."

Seeing Myuri start to kneel, Priam's eyes widened, and he quickly caught her.

"That's unnecessary! I'm your boss, not your king."

"I'm not sure I understand the difference," Myuri admitted, tilting her head.

"It's... we'll talk about it later, okay?" he said, gesturing towards the three summoning circles reaching maturity.

Myuri nodded and put on a neutral mask. Priam focused on the ritual nearing its completion. An elf, a native, and a goblin appeared simultaneously and looked around.

"Welcome to Oasis," Priam smiled at the newcomers.

"Master!" the goblin exclaimed, turning to him, grinning widely. "You spend thirty percent of Sun Points on traps?!"

Priam stifled a smile, pointing at the hoplites. "I suppose that was the requirement to be able to select you?" The green being nodded so fast only a supernatural constitution kept his neck from snapping. "If you want to know more, I suggest discussing it with Hyshana, the leader of the hoplites."

"Hyshana, Trap coming!"

Watching the ADHD-afflicted creature scurry on its short legs, Priam hid a smile. The general escorted Trap towards the rampart while the second artisan, a native man, observed the scene, nodding.

"No unnecessary speeches, I like that," the native declared. "My name is Bertomne Gah’l, and I’m a sand singer."

"My name is Priam Azura, Duke of Oasis. As you can see, there’s little sand here, but there’s plenty behind a rift we control."

The man squinted before lowering his gaze to Log-a-rhythm's roots. "Yes, I can feel it."

Note to self: isolate the first bunker.

[Note recorded.]

"Before I hand you over to those who will take care of you, I’d like to exchange a few words about this event and the Wandering Islands in general."

The former tribesman nodded, and Priam turned to the elf, who seemed mesmerized by Log-a-rhythm.

"Lamnas?"

"This Tal Quercus is just splendid... I feel a connection between it and the nearby plants. A mutation, perhaps..."

"It’s my partner, and I’d be happy to discuss it with you—that’s why you’re here, after all—as soon as we clear up a few points," Priam replied, projecting his charisma to capture the elf’s attention.

"Oh, of course," the elf apologized, finally noticing his new Lord.

"Alright then, let's get started."

Sitting atop Log-a-rhythm, Priam, Alain, Rose, Myuri, Ymir, and the two new artisans sipped fresh sap. Once everyone had a mug in hand, the young Lord began to speak. “I've gathered you here to discuss Oasis’s place in Elysium.”

Since his arrival, Priam had accumulated countless questions but found no one willing to answer for free. This was his chance to learn more about his new home.

“For those who don’t know, my Champion rivals and I arrived here about two months ago from another universe.” In reality, only Kazuki had spent that much time here since time flowed faster in Elysium than on the Moon, but Priam didn’t want to lose his audience with unnecessary details. “I've learned a lot during this time, but I’m still missing pieces of the puzzle. What can you tell me about Elysium?”

Ymir, Lamnas, and Bertomne exchanged glances before the merchant cleared his throat.

“Lord Azura, allow me to share some knowledge I've gathered over my years as a traveling merchant,” the merchant smiled politely. “Most people agree that Elysium is a vast sphere containing numerous biomes of varying sizes. Aether is denser at its center, making the biomes increasingly dangerous as you move inward. Legend has it that its core houses the Seven.”

“A story to entertain children,” grumbled Bertomne.

“Such unnecessary comments are not needed, Artisan Bertomne,” Priam pointed. His summers as a camp counselor had taught him that first impressions were crucial. There was no way he would let the sand singer develop unacceptable habits.

The artisan met his gaze before looking away.

“All legends hold a kernel of truth,” Ymir smiled. “What’s certain is that the Wandering Islands are an archipelago of floating islands drifting across this superworld. In a way, it’s the safest place in Elysium, which might explain why it’s the starting point for so many Champions.”

“A superworld…” Priam nodded. “How big is it?”

The two artisans and the merchant exchanged looks before Ymir shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know. The Wandering Islands don’t make a complete circuit of Elysium but hover over the same biomes in a loop. I'm ashamed to admit that I don't know the size of the region where I was born.”

“About two million gashlaps,” Lamnas provided. When confused looks turned his way, he pretended to contemplate the sap at the bottom of his mug, blushing.

Ymir smiled indulgently. “Even if you bought our Lord’s language at the Sun Shop, you need to convert the numbers into units he uses. That’s roughly a hundred billion square kilometers,” he revealed.

Alain whistled in surprise, and Rose’s eyes widened. “That’s one and a half times the surface of Jupiter!” the teenager exclaimed.

“Or two hundred times the surface of Earth,” Priam calculated. “That’s immense.”

“Not really,” Bertomne shrugged. “From the center, the boundary is less than two hundred thousand kilometers. A determined Tier 3 could leave this region in under a year.”

“Determined and lucky,” Priam corrected. He doubted a Tier 3 could escape a monster like Sumstreh.

“If you truly wish to leave, there’s an easier way,” Ymir smiled. “The Wandering Islands are a vast drifting archipelago. You just need to jump between two islands to land in another biome. Currently, we’re flying over the Leviathan’s Lair if you feel like swimming.”

While searching for Seth at Osiris’s request, Priam had noticed the floating island he was on hovered over an ocean.

“That sounds like a draconic creature,” he smiled.

Ymir shook his head. “It’s not a draconic beast, but it’s rumored to be at the seraphic level. I advise against diving in; not all biomes are equal, and the Leviathan’s Lair is one of the most dangerous I know. No resident of the Wandering Islands, not even the Empress, has the power to face such a monster if it still exists.”

Priam’s Domain sensed Lamnas’s heartbeat quicken. “Is there a problem?”

The elf looked up, surprised his reaction had been noticed. “Before joining Oasis, I came from Knaya’s seventh fortress, and the Empress was the leader of my faction,” he explained. “However, the merchant is right: against a seraphic creature, all hope is lost. Even the dead of the Death Trench steer clear.”

“I recognize that name,” Alain interjected. “Most items from the Auctions come from there.”

“We just entered the airspace of that biome,” Lamnas revealed. “That's why I left.”

“Can you tell us more?” Priam asked.

The elf hesitated before nodding. “Knaya, my former faction, is located on the northern border of the Wandering Islands. Because of this, it was often attacked by creatures noticing our region’s approach. Millennia ago, the Empress ordered the construction of a hundred fortresses to protect our border. I come from the seventh.”

The tale seemed to plunge him into thought, and the others waited for him to continue.

“The timing of the Necromoon is terrible because the northernmost islands just left the Leviathan’s Lair to enter the Death Trench. As its name suggests, there are more damned souls in that region than trees in all the Wandering Islands. The Necromoon’s curse rallied them under one banner, making their assaults hard to repel.”

“So you fled like a coward,” Bertomne taunted.

“I am a coward,” Lamnas admitted before Priam could intervene. “However, I fail to see the point in giving my soul to a Herald.”

“Damn,” Bertomne swore. “So soon?! I thought Tier 3s were the maximum allowed for now.”

Lamnas shrugged. “My brother thinks a Tier 5 Lich voluntarily converted to the Necromoon.”

Priam knew a Herald was present since Seth had told him about the order to track Sumstreh, but this didn’t concern his new artisans. The discussion continued for almost an hour, with Ymir, Lamnas, and Bertomne proving to be valuable sources of information.

The Wandering Islands were a vast Wild West where tribes roamed. Only a few locations belonged to factions, including Knaya, the land of the elves. The royal elf who had become the Tal Quercus at the heart of Log-a-rhythm likely hailed from there. For a moment, Priam recalled the figure that had appeared when his tree absorbed the Crimson Fruit. Feeling a headache coming on, he forced himself to ignore the memory.

“Thank you all for answering my questions,” Priam smiled once his curiosity was somewhat satisfied. “Now, let’s get down to business. A rift to a new world lies beneath this tree, and I plan to build an outpost there. That’s why I summoned you.”

Priam gestured to his father. “This is Alain, the architect in charge of the project and your team leader. He’ll tell you what to do once we better understand your skills.”

“I sense no recognition from the System,” Bertomne declared, crossing his arms. “You don’t expect me to obey someone who hasn’t passed any Tribulation, do you?”

Status:

PHYSICAL:

Strength 707

Constitution 1 105

Agility 617

Vitality 1 040

Perception 760

MENTAL:

Vivacity (D) 570

Dexterity 652

Memory 832

Willpower 1 159

Charisma 677

META:

Meta-affinity 784

Meta-focus 403

Meta-endurance 608

Meta-perception 339

Meta-chance 274

Meta-authority 210

Potential: 13 527

Tier 0

Sun points: 1 465 0197 (+219)

[He Who Eludes Death] charge: PRIMED

[Tribulation]: Five Tribulations pending.

Future Tribulations delayed until:

Time: 156 days 13 hours 35 minutes 41 seconds.

Next thresholds: 12 attributes > 600 / 6 attributes > 900 / 1 attribute > 1 200